A Soul's Shape
by transmigratory
Summary: The soul's form and shape depends on each person, and how they respond to the world around them. Maka can see souls but she doesn't always understand them - especially when it comes to her own weapon and best friend. Soul x Maka drabble / one-shot series
1. Distance

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Soul Eater. _

**Pairing: **Soul and Maka.

**Author's Note:** I like this pairing so much I decided I would do a drabble / one-shot series for them from time to time. I really like writing for these two, even considering how complicated they can be sometimes (I hope they don't stray from their character). I've only watched the anime so far, but I got the first volume of manga and I'll soon be working on that. For now, however, the drabbles and one-shots will be based mainly on the anime series, and will later become a mix. They'll probably be based on random LJ prompts for inspiration, or just something I may pass day by day. Who knows; I just hope someone out there enjoys it. ^^

* * *

At first, they kept their distance.

Even though they took up residence in the same house, _and_ walked to school together, they kept space from each other, stepping on eggshells.

But then, many things happened that drastically changed them both.

They entered battle together, forging an instant, unbreakable bond between meister and weapon.

Suddenly they talked a lot more, _especially_ over dinner; a job they later decided – together – they would share the responsibility of.

They both assumed things about each other that were dead wrong.

While Soul once lingered in her doorway to talk, he soon started walking in and sitting on her bed like he owned the place. Maka took it as an invitation and sat right next to him, appreciating the warmth his presence provided. Now they were so close the fabric of their sleeves brushed; they could almost hear each other's erratic heartbeats.

She opened up to him about her parents and he saw a fragility she did not show any of her other friends. He wanted to protect her almost immediately when he witnessed it, when he consoled her, and when he provided her with a comfort he did not know he had in him until meeting her. She would be like the flower, and he the vase.

As she talked he listened so intently she swore nothing could break his concentration, and she wanted to listen to him, whenever he felt ready enough to speak his mind.

Even now she still waits, and willingly. She knows now that distance doesn't last forever, and so does he.


	2. New Look

**Disclaimer: **If I owned this series, this wouldn't be here...

**Author's Note: **Thank you to those who put this story on alert. ^^ It's encouraging, and feedback is also welcome! This takes place mid-series when Soul's outfit changes...Enjoy!

* * *

He walked out of his room, down the stairs and into the living room, tentative and uncertain as he approached the kitchen, as if stepping across a minefield. He glanced around, unwilling at first to step over the threshold and into the warmth. Eventually, however, the mouthwatering aroma of breakfast and his roaring stomach drew him in.

Maka curiously watched him from the corner of her eye, but decided it best not to pry into his early morning endeavor. He probably wouldn't answer her even if she politely asked. "Good morning, Soul," she greeted hesitantly, neatly setting the table.

"'Mornin'," he grumbled in response, quietly beginning to dig in.

She sat down across from him cautiously, scrutinizing his silence as if answers could be provided from his wary looks, his shifting scarlet eyes. The mild tension consumed her slowly, and soon, to get her mind off this strangely intense moment, she began to play with her silverware, and her food.

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked, sounding concerned at her lack of interest.

"_Aha!"_ she exclaimed suddenly, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, throwing him completely off-guard. "Did you do something to your hair?"

He looked up and nodded. "Well, I switched my headband," he admitted almost sullenly. He could see a bit more clearly now that most of his bangs were shoved neatly off to the side and out of his vision.

"I like it." Satisfied at solving the puzzle, she heartily began to eat her meal, as if it were her prize for figuring out the morning's mystery.

"Thanks," he muttered, trying hard to hold back a blush.


	3. Notes

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Soul Eater._

**Author's Note: **This drabble is especially fluffy...Haha. I'm such a sucker for this stuff, so I tend to write it myself sometimes. Also, I spilled something on my keyboard, and now, when I'm typing, random numbers appear in my words. A bit like th6is. Such6 a pain to g5o back and fix all th6e time...See? Anyway...

Thank you so much for the alerts, favorites, and reviews! It may sound pathetic, but they really brighten my day. ^^ They're encouraging! I hope I replied to them all.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Psst. _Psst. _Maka."

She longed to know what he wanted to tell her, but listening to this lecture seemed to have a stronger hold on her attention at the moment. She shot Soul a swift glare to silence him, and then immediately returned to her thorough note-taking, hoping this particular piece of information could hold off until _after _class finished.

"Maka," he hissed, this time a little louder. A few heads in the classroom now turned their way.

She still refused to bid him any sort of attention; that is, until she felt a triangle-shaped note bounce off her cheek. Eager to release some of her pent-up frustration at his blatant ignorance, she flicked it back at him in full force, almost enough to leave a small paper cut on his face.

He winced at the sting, but knew very well how to be persistent. He threw it at her again, restraining a smirk at her welling anger.

Irritation instantly stole the usual sparkle in her eyes, and her grip fastened so tightly around her pencil it emitted a small snap, about to break under her white-knuckled pressure. Her partner just could _never _take a hint. She whipped her head around and leered, wishing her eyes were daggers. "_What?" _she snapped, standing up to face him, drawing the attention of every student in the classroom - including the professor's- like a magnet.

"Something you need to tell the class, Maka?" Stein asked, garnering a few snickers from some of their other classmates.

"N-no," she responded dutifully, bowing slightly to show her sincerity before returning to her seat.

Soul sat back in his own seat comfortably, seemingly satisfied. "Made you talk in class," he said, as if he thought such an endeavor impossible before he achieved it.

The pencil snapped in half, but she didn't have the heart to respond. Getting in trouble in class always put her in a terrible mood. _I'm an honors student, _she thought, disappointed that she caved into his childish behavior.

He took the unread note and stuffed it in his pocket like a keepsake, his deviant smirk now a more repentant smile. He knew she would never risk her grade to read his note, so he had scribbled a secret on it.

_I think I may love you._

_- Soul_


	4. Sunshine

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Soul Eater. _If I did...Actually, I'm really bad at disclaimer jokes, so I'll just leave it at that.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for such a late update! I had two essays due this week, and tons of homework, so I've been a bit preoccupied. Thanks, also, for all the reviews and alerts! I appreciate it so much.

Anyway, I hope Maka and Soul aren't too out of character in this one. Haha. Same with Ox and Kim, though they're only mentioned for a split second. Enjoy!

* * *

Finally finished with her many hours of homework, Maka aimlessly wandered the halls of Shibusen, trying to clear her head of its clutter, and rid of a headache that clouded her mind completely like a thick fog. The halls after school always seemed so vacant, the dusted floors glittering dimly in the dying light of day. With all the windows propped open to let in fresh air, her bogged mind cleared almost instantly the second she breathed it all in.

Until she turned a corner and accidentally ran into a mildly innocent lovers' rendezvous between Ox and Kim. They didn't spot her or her horrified expression as she instantly turned away and ran, as if being chased by her own memories. Her father instinctively came to mind, and tears built at the edges of her eyes. The intimacy she just witnessed wouldn't leave her head, and either would the envy she felt in her heart at knowing she might never experience it.

"Maka?" a familiar voice called, and one she bumped into. Her books and papers scattered all over the floor, her pencils and pens snapping when they unwillingly met the cold, hard ground.

"Oh, Soul? Sorry," she said, breathless. Still, she refused to look him in the eye, attempting weakly to conceal her tears. Without giving him a chance to respond, she started to dash away once more, out into the quiet streets of Death City.

"What…?" He sighed, frustrated and confused, and then began to gather all of her piles of homework together. "Idiot. It's going to rain soon." He went out of his way to come back to school and get her before the rain started, knowing she would be too into her work to remember. _No good deed goes unpunished, _he thought bitterly before bolting to catch up with her.

His concern for her welfare grew every time she pulled a reckless stunt like this. He wondered why.

Surprisingly, he found her in an alleyway, huddled against a stone wall as if it would provide shelter from the downpour. He walked over and hovered the umbrella over her head, grabbing her attention.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping closer so they could share the safety the umbrella provided.

"I could ask you the same thing. What's bothering you so much?" he inquired, not bothering to cut corners.

She did always admire that about her partner: he always and immediately got straight to the point, and always seemed to be able to sense whether she lied or not. "I was just thinking."

"Out here?"

She laughed lightly, staring abashedly at her feet. Warmth filled her as she picked up on the worry in his voice. Suddenly, it didn't feel like they were standing in the rain, but in the sunshine. "I just saw something I didn't really want to see in the halls today," she began, fumbling for an explanation. "I realized something after."

He waited patiently, holding tightly onto her homework with his one free hand.

"If I ever get into a relationship, I just don't want it to be complicated, or crazy. I want it to be simple." Maka smiled feebly, taking her work from him so she could reach out and grab his hand.

"Maka?"

She didn't reply, and instead began to lead the way back to their apartment, not freeing her hand from his for even one moment.

He wouldn't have let her, anyway.


	5. Reasons

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it.

**Author's Note: **An unusually quick update on my part! I actually wrote four drabbles for Soul and Maka today, but I'll add the other ones later. Haha. I have to proofread them and such. And they're all ridiculously fluffy, which I sincerely apologize for. Anyway, this a really short chapter revolving around the realizations of the two about why they've come to like each other so much (first one is Maka to Soul, and the second is Soul to Maka).

Thanks, as always, for the reviews and feedback! It's always appreciated. ^^

* * *

His sharp, white teeth underlying a contagious and charming smile. His alabaster hair, toned arms and chest she so vehemently pretended not to notice. His clinquant crimson stare, the one that never wavered when he listened to her speak, no matter the subject matter. Trusting her judgment so much that he transformed into her weapon at will. His ability to encourage her to do almost anything – even if it meant bending the rules she so loved to follow. The way he looked after her after her papa's negligence. The way he sacrificed himself for her whenever she stumbled into danger and couldn't find a way out except through him, through his strength and his soul.

All of it made her catch her breath.

* * *

She never went back on a decision. She always said she wanted to be stronger for his sake, a kind concept foreign to him for so long, never coming across it until unexpectedly crossing paths with her (he found he liked the idea of fate ever since it toyed directly with his own life, in that small checkered room with the sleek piano). Her emerald eyes, lambent even in the dimmest of light. Her smile, her infectious laugh, and especially her tendency to reach out to him in times of need. She relied on him completely, and he loved every moment of it. He loved being the one chased and caught, instead of the submissive and loyal follower. He liked being sought after. He loved being her protector, and she wielded him perfectly when he became her trusty scythe. He liked that when she felt lonely, she came to him.

Because at those times, he felt lonely, too.

Even though they shared an apartment, he considered her to be his only true home.


	6. Loopholes

**Disclaimer:** _Soul Eater_is not mine~

**Author's Note: **My professors are slowly killing me with homework, so sorry if these updates are slow and short. Spring break is coming up soon, so hopefully I'll finally get around to writing oneshots instead of tons of drabbles. Haha. For now, this is what I've got. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks again for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. ^^

* * *

Her papa used to do so many things for her when he cared.

He taught her to read, which she still carries out devotedly and on a daily basis. He bought loads of ribbons for her, and threaded them through her seemingly honeyed pigtails when she got too frustrated to do it on her own. He bought her fashionable dresses, and led her around town by the hand so he could proudly show her off to the other fathers. He tied her shoes, and forewarned her about how bewildering and dangerous boys could be to someone as beautiful as her.

_How hypocritical, _she thought bitterly as she leafed through an old scrapbook that featured the two of them together. _Now I can't trust guys at all. He makes them seem so terrible. _She closed the book, as if playing keep away with the pictures would erase the memories completely. Even after putting it away, however, the fragments of time remained in her mind, and in her wounded heart.

She clenched her fists, nails digging painfully into her calloused palms, about to break the soft skin. He used to adore her, and now he only broke her spirit. She turned to leave her apartment to clear her mind, but a strong arm caught her and held her back.

"Maka?" he asked her, snapping her out of her reverie. "Are you okay?"

_Fine, _she figured, smiling at her partner's genuine concern, _maybe not all boys are bad. _"Mhmm. Just a little nostalgic. Hey, Soul, want to go for a walk?"

He arched an eyebrow at her strange behavior, but earnestly followed, dutifully concerned.

She loved finding loopholes.


	7. Legend

**Disclaimer: **Not mine~

**Author's Note: **It's finally Spring Break! I'm so excited. Haha. I get a whole week off, and I can now write more creatively (between all the homework I have, anyway...). Less essays to deal with. So, here's another drabble. Sorry it took a while for me to update! I really ought to try and think of a oneshot...

Thanks again for the reviews and alerts! I appreciate it! ^^

* * *

Ironically, her father told her about the legend of the red thread; a man who seemingly had torn his quite some time ago. Of course, as he told the tale, he left out that little important detail and explained that his still kept him tied to her mother.

Maka didn't believe him, or the story. It just seemed absolutely ridiculous as she thought on it now, especially coming from someone so unfaithful to his "destined one." Surely this idea of kindred spirits and fate sprung from some fool's hope? An unrequited love?

_Or an excuse for papa to lie again, _she thought bitterly.

She sighed and examined her slender fingers, as if expecting to find a sliver of the string there. For some reason, as she pondered it, the night she met Soul in that dark, dimly-lit, and black checkered room came to mind.

They lost their way often, and often strayed from the path to their dreams at forks in the roads where they differed; but in the end, they always came back to each other. They saved each other. When she thought about it, they really _were _tied to each other in some way (and sometimes tangled).

The young meister smiled briefly, clenched her fists as if still clinging to this alleged red thread, and felt warmth spread through her spirit.

She figured they would trip over it time and time again, but still be connected, no matter what.

A fool's hope indeed. But she couldn't help but respect the idiot that started it. It all made sense, after all.


	8. Precious

**Disclaimer: **Oh, you know...Don't own it, just borrowing the characters for a while.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for taking so long to update! I've had homework all semester nonstop, and it's still going. However, I needed a break from writing essays and wanted to get a little more creative with my words. Haha. Unfortunately, I was a little tired when I wrote this, so I hope it's not too bad! A drunk Maka would definitely be interesting...Maybe I'll make a oneshot about it if I ever get the time.

Thanks again for the reviews! I really enjoy reading them. ^^

And just a sidenote: Maka and Soul are twenty in this drabble.

* * *

He couldn't believe it.

Maka, to him, would never be the type to so willingly subject to any sort of peer pressure given her stubborn and uniform nature, and yet last night his partner earnestly proved him wrong. She actually went with Patty's ingenious idea to "get completely smashed" now that she boasted the ripe young age of twenty. Maka,_ his_ straightedge, bookworm, strict, and honey-haired Maka trashed herself at a club last night and then proceeded to party the night way with a newly discovered - or should he say lost? – sense of shame.

Completely hungover and unable to fend for herself, she now lay sprawled out in his bed in oversized boxers and one of his favorite t-shirts. If not drooling and mumbling in her sleep like an insomniac finally able to dream, he would undoubtedly admit she looked almost endearing in the morning light.

Soul sighed and traced her jaw with his thumb gently, being careful not to wake her too early, hoping to stave off her morning after as long as he possibly could. _I promised to protect you, _he thought sadly as he realized she would soon be experiencing a whole new world of pain; though he trusted she could handle it compared to other aches she endured in the past decade or so.

He felt secondhand embarrassment as he remembered what she probably wouldn't without his help – the acts she unknowingly carried out on the club's dance floor. He wondered if he could civilly relay all the stories to her without earning a Maka-chop. Grinding, flirting, giggling, and all sorts of other breaches of etiquette foreign to her now stained her once completely pure reputation. He felt himself tense as he remembered the way her emerald eyes sparkled when a few males flocked to her side and insisted she could quite possibly be the most beautiful creature to ever step into Death City.

And he felt his heart break when he remembered what she told him as he carried her, completely inebriated after drinking for hours like a fish, on the way home.

"_No one's ever said I was beautiful before," _she had slurred. "_It was kind of nice."_

His heart mended and skipped a beat when he remembered how lovely she really did look in her brand new dress, a birthday gift from Tsubaki. It really brought out her eyes, and a revelation in Soul.

Maka rolled over in her sleep and blinked up at him, bleary-eyed and obviously fumbling her fuzzy head for memories of last night.

"Maka," he whispered, assuming her head to be throbbing.

"Mmm?" she sleepily responded. She rubbed absently at her eyes.

"You've always been beautiful." He gulped, hoping she wouldn't remember this particular section of her first – and probably only – drunken adventure, even though it took all effort in him to utter the words he had held back for so long. "I've always thought that, but I've been afraid to tell you. I'm sorry. I should've said it sooner."

She snuggled closer to him, and he hoped she couldn't get a glimpse of his blush. "Thank you. It means so much to me when you say it, Soul."

"Why?"

"Because you're precious to me." She instantly fell asleep wrapped up in his strong arms, in his sudden, but thoroughly welcome, embrace.

He smiled. Maybe this stupor of hers had some advantages, though most benefited him.

Though he still couldn't be sure how to tell her about the congo line she started.

He restrained a chuckle as he stared at her new sombrero sitting in the corner of his room.

_Maybe tomorrow._


	9. Give

**Author's Note: **I haven't updated in quite some time, and for that, I apologize. And I apologize again for such a small update even after all this time. xD But I've been having some rough days, so I haven't exactly been in a particularly creative mood. But I just wrote a bunch of drabbles for these two, with a one-shot on the way. Hopefully I'll get around to uploading those soon. ^^ To those who read, thanks for your patience.

Thanks to the reviews last time from Midnight Ghost, SilverStella, and SandmanCircus. I appreciate it. All the reviews are appreciated! 3 As well as those who favorite, and alert to it. I hope the next few drabbles I put up are satisfying! Haha.

**Warnings: **Hmm...None. Just a bit fluffy, I guess. xD

* * *

"You don't always need to be strong. Every once in a while, something's gotta give, Maka. If you bottle it up, it'll just explode."

"Like you're one to talk," she spat back, frustrated not with him, but with herself; yet taking it out on him, as always, seemed like the sweetest release. She wiped sweat straight from her forehead, watching distantly as the beads spattered onto the cemented, cold ground. The young girl could barely stand, but refused to fall. She would never fall apart, no matter how many corrupted lives she would be forced to steal before their time.

Suddenly, though, she felt a crushing and unexpected embrace. With Soul's arms wrapped tightly around her, despite all protest, she could no longer contain it all, and burst into tears. They flowed into the cracks of the crumbling pavement beneath them, mingling with the blood and the perspiration. She never felt so ashamed, and yet so relieved, in her entire life.

As she breathed him in, she realized just how much better this bitter release could be.

"It hurts me, too, you know," he whispered as she held onto him.


	10. Innocence

**Author's Note: **Another update! ^^ For an lj meme I wrote ten drabbles for Soul and Maka, so I'll be able to update frequently for the next few days, I guess. Haha. Hope you enjoy!

And thanks for the reviews, SilverStella, Enthusiastic Reader, and Midnight Ghost. They're always appreciated. =]

**Warnings: **None. I don't really know where on the timeline this takes place, though. xD Open for interpretation, I guess.

* * *

She remembered briefly her days of innocence, when she would wear brightly-colored ribbons and flowing dresses and still be accepted by society, not big boots and a black trench coat to flaunt her strength.

Fights revolved around who had the most height, who had the better crayons, and who could color in the lines the best, not plundering souls straight from their bodies and whose weapon made the least amount of mess in the aftermath.

Reality had yet to sink in, and when it did, it felt like stones sat at the pit of her heart and weighed it down each day.

With Soul standing walking beside her on the sidewalk, she grabbed his hand and remembered those days sadly again.

But, she supposed as their fingers interlaced, she would probably miss this the most, and smiled instead.


	11. Experience

**Author's Note: **Another update? No way! I should probably space these updates out a little more, though. Haha. I don't want to run out too quickly. I was just so excited that I wrote again that I wanted to put it all out there. Hope you enjoy~!

Thanks for the reviews, Midnight Ghost, Hiezen Uchiha, SoulForAnime, and Enthusiastic Reader. :) They keep me going, as well as alerts and favorites. ^^ Thank you~

**Warnings: **Just...more fluff! xD

* * *

The pitter-patter of the summer rain on their rooftop didn't sway her from her vigorous studies, her emerald eyes never daring to roam anywhere out of bounds beyond what lay written between the lines. She barely even seemed to be breathing, _living, _and Soul felt more and more livid every time he stepped past her door late at night and saw her dim desk light flooding onto the carpet at his feet. Summer had started, and ever since, she rarely left her room aside from attending to their basic necessities.

Even as 2 AM rolled around, she refused to stop. He couldn't stand watching it, so how could she stand _experiencing _it? Seven days this had been going on, and he no longer felt powerless to halt it. He barged her door open rudely after much tossing and turning, and glared into her dimly-lit room without saying a word.

She didn't even turn his way.

"Bookworm!"

No response.

He grumbled inaudibly, on the edge of shouting. _"Maka!"_

She blinked and looked up as if awoken from a trance, and blankly looked his way. "Hmm? What is it, Soul?"

"It's time to go outside. Experience summer. And your window being propped open sure as hell doesn't count. Let's go." Before she could respond, he roughly grabbed her hand and tugged her out of her seat like a ragdoll, ignoring her heightening cries of protest.

"It's raining!" she whined, fraying his nerves further.

As they stood on their threshold, he suddenly bent down and began to clumsily remove her boots, as well as his own.

Her cheeks flushed a little, her first sign of life in the last week. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Just trust me, and go stand in the rain. Step right into the puddles."

"Huh?"

He didn't explain any further, only waving her toward the darkening street. "I'll be right behind you. Just go."

With those first words of his, she found herself standing the road, and in the rain. It felt not only ludicrous to be there, but also surprisingly warm as it slid down her exposed skin and soaked into her clothes, and she smiled faintly at the resemblance it had to her partner's attitude. With her feet vulnerable, bits of cedar and pebble stuck to her toes, but were quickly washed away as she dared to venture into a slowly-forming puddle. She held out her hands as if giving thanks to the ashen heavens, catching some of the rainwater in her palms.

"See?" Her weapon's voice broke into her thoughts as he came to stand beside her, looking up to the sky as well. "You needed this, right?"

"Mhmm," she acceded softly. "I did." Her smile widened. "Thanks, Soul."

"That's what I'm here for." He cleared his throat and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "We're friends, I guess."

_We're more than that, _she thought, but didn't dare to say. She settled for reaching out and taking one of his rain-glazed hands in her own, squeezing it gently as affirmation.

She'd wait for a night when they could see the stars.


	12. Kiss

**Author's Note: **I've been forgetting my disclaimers! Oops. **Disclaimer: **I do not own _Soul Eater~ _Also, my laptop came so unbelievably close to crashing the other day. It had so many viruses. Yikes! Luckily, a friend of mine saved it. Otherwise, I would've lost all of my fanfiction. Haha. I panicked. Luckily, I can still update. xD

Thanks again for the reviews, SoulForAnime, maple the wacky tree, Enthusiastic Reader, DemonFoxToy, and Midnight Ghost. ^^ As well as the alerts and favorites!

**Warnings: **Again, I have no idea where this would take place on the timeline. Haha. But there aren't really any big-time spoliers for the series here, so...Enjoy!

* * *

He couldn't help kissing her.

He supposed it did warrant a slap on her part, considering how unexpected (and, though he felt ashamed to admit it, awkward) it had been.

They were simply sitting there on the fountain in the center of the city, chatting about everything and nothing and listening to the low hum of the water's peaceful flow, and he suddenly turned to her and saw her lit-up face silhouetted by the sunshine and told her to turn his way, unsure as to why.

He found himself placing his hand on hers gently, his other free hand cupping her cheek. Then, before they _both _knew it, his lips covered hers and long-buried feelings abruptly were upturned and available, neither of them having any clue as to where to look or what to do.

She blushed, slapped him, and walked away, silently fuming and embarrassed all at once.

_Are all first kisses supposed to suck that much? _he wondered as realization struck him like her hand, leaving a red mark on his face and on his heart. _Now how am I gonna fix this? That was completely uncool._

He can't say he entirely regretted it, though.

And Maka regretted not deepening it when she had the chance.


	13. History

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it~

**Author's Notes: **Finally updated again! Haha. This has actually been sitting on my computer for a while, but I didn't get the opportunity to proofread it until today. ^^ Thanks again for the reviews, SilverStella, Enthusiastic Reader, Midnight Ghost, so x ma is awesome, maple the wacky tree, and SoulForAnime. They always make my day~

**Warnings: **It seems bad when you first read it, but it's a mostly innocent drabble. xD

* * *

"Maka," he whispered breathlessly from above her, "I love you."

Her emerald eyes widened, as if trying to completely take him in, his head to his toes. She remained silent, wordless and speechless as he just as intently absorbed her delicate contours.

He believed in no regrets, but in this moment, he suddenly wished time would stop, and return to before this horrendous complication. He wondered if frozen time would be quieter than this.

She didn't believe in love, not after having a father like she did. He played with hearts like toys, exciting at first then suddenly losing interest when a better version came along. She knew the moment she accepted Soul's invitation to an intimate relationship she risked this sort of sentiment not just on his side, but hers as well; yet she never actually expected it to happen. Not after following her father through crowded streets as he wooed one coquette right after another.

How could she truly trust a man after living with one like that?

_Well, _she figured as she gingerly traced his jaw with trembling fingers and softened at the sight of his crimson eyes, _living with a man like this changed that, didn't it?_

She smiled slowly. "I'm glad."

He arched an eyebrow, hoping she would elaborate after such a mystifying response.

"I do, too."

She feared nothing except perhaps history repeated, but if she didn't say how she genuinely felt now, she would have regret letting him go and having no history at all.


	14. Warmth

**Disclaimer: **Not mine~!

**Author's Notes: **This chapter was hard to write because it's been so hot lately; it was hard to imagine being cold again. Haha.

Thanks again for the favorites, alerts, and reviews...

SoulForAnime, Hiezen Uchiha, maple the wacky tree, Silver Stella, Midnight Ghost, and Enthusiastic Reader. Always appreciated and encouraging!

**Warnings: **None. Just extremely fluffy as usual. ^^

* * *

Winter hit Death City harder than any Shinigami-chop ever could, any kishin. Frost like broken glass glittered on the cobblestone at their feet, and icicles as brittle as bone hung dangerously from the roof of every building they shuffled reluctantly past. The bitter cold made their world seem far more fragile than before; each element of it appeared cracked in some way, swirling and shifting like the snow that daintily dusted it.

Even three layers couldn't completely thaw them after a great deal of exposure to the cold in their latest, and perhaps one of their longest, missions. Evident through their shivering, reddened noses and watering gazes, they stuck close together and sought any relief possible as they struggled back to their incredibly welcoming apartment.

"Ugh," Soul suddenly complained, his breath going up in smoke as it touched the dry, gelid air, "my hands are gonna fall off before we get back." His fingers appeared to be on the brink of turning blue; his words seemed not even the slightest bit exaggerated, and it took a lot of strength to contain her concern as she crudely reprimanded him.

"I told you to bring mittens, didn't I?"

"The only ones available were your pink fuzzy ones. No thanks. I don't wear girl gloves."

She sighed, and rolled her eyes. Sacrificing bits and pieces of himself to be fashionable seemed _far_ more girly than wearing those gloves, but she kept that comment to herself for once. Reluctantly she slid one of her own white gloves off and handed it to him, to which he raised a brow.

"Why are you-"

Maka grabbed his right hand and pulled it on, then held his left to keep it contained and safe, and put her other gloved hand in her pocket. The body heat did wonders for them both at the touch, and even reached their cheeks, though that remained for another reason entirely.

"This is so uncool."

"It's supposed to be. It's _warm."_

To her cleverly-crafted response, he had no words. He just knew that the walk home after that wouldn't be quite as cold.


	15. Secrets

**Disclaimer: **I wish I had Ohkubo-sensei's amazing talent.

**Author's Notes: **Haven't updated in a little while, and I'm sorry about that! I recently got a new job, so my summer's gotten increasingly busy nowadays. This update's also a little short (as are all the previous chapters, really), so I'll _definitely _make the next one a one-shot!

**Warnings: **Spoilers for Chapter 40. Nothing that'll give away the plot or anything, though.

Thanks for the reviews for chapter 14, Midnight Ghost, SoulForAnime, SilverStella, Enthusiastic Reader, maple the wacky tree, Yami96, and Hiezen Uchiha! Also thanks for favorites and alerts. ^^

* * *

She doesn't realize how close he is until she comes to her senses at the soft sound of his heartbeat, a rhythm so steady and so unlike his piano-playing it always startles her. She never knows what to expect of him, from the tune he plays on ivory-coated keys to the tune of his soul's wavelength playing softly against hers in their close, shared quarters. Though she supposes he wouldn't be _her_ usual Soul if he wasn't always unusual, always different.

Her one true constant always changed, and she took some strange human comfort in that.

That's why it hurts her deeply to hold in the information about Chrona even knowing he could help, especially when she knows he can sense and see through all of her entangling lies.

She wouldn't be _his _Maka if she wasn't always the same, always stubborn. Despite knowing from the start she'd hold in what was bothering her, it still upset him, and so he found he couldn't meet her gaze for longer than a few tense seconds at a time as he promised not to rush her into telling him.

"Tomorrow!" she says, absolutely determined to confide in him. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

He's relieved, but still shuffles very slowly to his bed, very hesitantly as if the weight of the unknown between the meister and her weapon added extra gravity to their apartment.

Knowing she's tossing and turning in the room next door keeps him awake as well, and only when he feels her wavelength settle down can he do the same; they wouldn't be each other's unless they were nearly the same.


	16. Gift

**Author's Note: **Wow... It's been a while since I updated this, huh? Haha. I think about four or five months? I apologize, though I swear I have a good excuse: College got in the way, as it always does for my leisurely writing. A lot has changed since I last updated this, which is really weird to think about. I hope everyone's doing well, and enjoyed the holidays! Here's that oneshot I promised a while back that I finally got around to writing a few days ago. :]

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it.

**Warnings: **None, really. No real spoilers, but I guess this could be taken as post-anime canon. As for the manga, nothing really past volume two or three.

* * *

He first notices it when she bungles the omelets she meant to make for breakfast.

He's drinking milk from the carton on the couch without a care in the world, feet crossed on the livingroom table, when he suddenly hears her cry out in pain and jumps to her side in an instant, like he'd been there all along. (It always seems to work that way for the two of them, he also notices for the first time.)

"Maka! What happened?" he asks, and then watches helpless as the seething iron pan falls clattering to the tiled ground, the half-beaten eggs spilling like a small yellow sea onto the floor at her feet, some bits sticking to the ceiling. He knows she feels intense pain when she winces visibly, when she's openly afflicted. He hates to do it but he grabs the right wrist that she's rubbing with her left and pulls her up, demanding an explanation with only a leer this time.

She sometimes think when she stares into his eyes that the redness in them comes from blood drawn from his prickling glare on his opponent's skin gathered over the years of fighting. When she thinks that, she doesn't speak; she can only gaze bleakly back and blink every once in a while and soak in a semi-deep breath.

The long silence standing in that vehement position startles the both of them. He loosens his grip to ease the pain she's obviously in.

"Nothing," she finally whispers. "I'm fine, Soul. Calm down. And how many times do I have to tell you not to drink from the carton? See what happens?" Her voice rises bit by bit as she regains equilibrium. She shakes her head at him and puffs out her cheeks angrily. "You clean up my mess and I'll clean yours. Fair deal?" She doesn't wait for a response from him, and instead grabs a clump of paper towels and makes her way to the table to absorb the puddles of milk forming there.

_No use crying over spilled milk, _she thinks to try and level her temper.

He knows she's digressing, and tries to sneak a glance at her injured hand, but she pulls it away as quick as he made it to her side.

He hates that sort of double standard. It happens a lot in their home, he thinks; far more often than he'd like to admit.

* * *

When she tells him what she thinks of his eyes, he starts to wonder about hers. What could make eyes so vibrantly green?

He thinks instantly of jealousy, maybe from his father's wavering attention or her mother's privilege to travel the world all on her own.

He thinks of leaves unrolling in the rain in the spring. He thinks of the fresh grass beneath the new canopies, the dew the gems that give the blades the sparkle her eyes take on (when she finally acts human enough to laugh). Sea glass that washes up unwillingly on shores. The sea itself.

Things that haven't bloomed completely yet – little buds, unfledged and ungrown, supple.

Green represents newness, he realizes. Like diamond-in-the-rough hope. He wonders if the fragments of viridian in her eyes are pieces of hope put together.

He can believe it.

"_Soul! Did you use all the hot water _again? _This is the third time this week!_ _I'm gonna fill the shower with ice cubes when you least expect it sometime soon_!"

(Sometimes.)

* * *

He notices it in the change of behavior, too.

Her weapon knows quite well that his meister isn't the biggest fan of the holidays (evident in her reluctance to buy even a tiny Christmas tree or a wreath for their door), and that her mood sours a bit as soon as the streets are covered in roof to pebble in tinsel (very evident in her occasional "accidental" crushing of an ornament or two in battle).

But it looks almost like she's been weighed down by a physical ailment this time. Like Christmastime is a disease to her that she unwillingly caught. Like it's stress in its gaudiest form.

Bags like swollen bruises start to form under her eyes (he knows she likes to study till all late hours of the night that give an owl a run for its money, but this is _ridiculous)_. She eats less and less, and leaves her room less and less after they come home. When Maka speaks (even in class, much to her embarrassment), her voice is hoarse like her throat's been sanded, _always _broken and cracking.

Soul can't help but an arch in eyebrow in class when she flinches after just a few strokes of writing and just a slight grip on her pencil. Each time her knuckles turn white a little bit of red follows and stains her skin – she's _never _had dry skin before, he swears – and soon her fingers are seemingly strung from band-aids and badly-held gauze (the beginnings of a mummy).

"Maka." He finally can't contain his concern anymore, and corners her after class one day. "_What _the hellis going on with you? It looks like you're falling apart. It's pissing me off, especially since you won't let me help." He knows he can save it for home, but here, she can't run from him, like she's been doing the past few days at their apartment (damn her door being the only one in the house with a lock).

"Double standard," she shoots back, like she's been reading his mind (the one thing, she thinks, she's sure she'll never be able to crack open and read). "You never tell me what's going on with you either, you know. It has to go both ways." She glares, her emerald eyes looking less like new leaves and more like a serpent's. "You couldn't help me with this, anyway. You'd mess it up." He can tell the meaning behind those words isn't drenched in any sort of malice, but he can't help but feel slighted at the unspoken message there, like he's always messing her up.

Maka becomes immediately cognizant of the effect those words may have had on him, but doesn't bring it up. She feels broken about it, but storms off in all her stubbornness and heads toward the library.

He notices it more after their fight. They bicker a lot, but not like this.

Not the kind of bickering that breaks his heart and bothers him for hours at a time.

Christmas is in three days, and they still haven't spoken.

Soul steals the couch each morning and waits for her to reveal herself so they can build a bridge over this wide river and cross it, but she doesn't come down until she knows he's not there.

_Damn it all, _he thinks. Then, he seeks advice.

* * *

"Do I think Maka-chan has been acting weird? No. Not at all. Why?" Tsubaki's smile is so fake Soul can swear he's seen it in a painting at an art museum his partner dragged him to once before, like it's been chiseled there (another rarity that makes him silently rage).

"What are you all hidin' from me? This is really starting to get on my last nerve." He slams his fork down on the cafeteria table, as if that'd sharpen his point.

He gives her credit for not flinching, but sees her with no real respect when she refuses to respond.

"She hasn't been sleeping, and I know it's not because of studying – winter break is soon and finals are done. We haven't had a real mission in a while, so doesn't need to be this tired or this restless or _injured. _It has nothing to do with the black blood, either. I know it doesn't. That's done and over with for a while." It's like a dam breaking, flooding the space between himself, Black Star, and Tsubaki, and they're trying their best to stay afloat in it. "She can't cook right anymore because she's always so damn distracted by _something _that she won't tell me about because she's avoiding me like the plague. I know she hates the holidays, but this runs deeper than that. I'm even afraid to go home." He takes one deep breath before the plunge. "_What _is going on?"

Tsubaki's heart shatters a little at his unheard pleading. She's warmed by his genuine fretting for his friend, but restricted by the pact she made with Maka many months ago about it all.

"Soul," Black Star begins, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. His eyes are unusually acute. "Maka really didn't tell you?"

Even Tsubaki's waiting with bated breath for her partner to continue. She clearly doesn't get what he's trying to say either (which is a surprise – their wavelength is strong).

He leans forward and prepares himself – _finally – _for the answer he's been longing for. "No. Will you?"

"You see," he begins, and both Tsubaki and Soul lean toward him, like awaiting the telling of a great secret. "Each month, girls malfunction. They lose a lot of blood in the process, and it makes them _crazy."_

Soul's certain that the fork now sticking out of Black Star's forehead is better than his brass-knuckle gift, and will bring about a much bigger malfunction than the one mentioned before. _Much better present, _Soul thinks.

For the both of them.

"Forget it. I'll get to the bottom of this once and for all on my own. Merry Christmas, numbnuts."

"And a Happy New Year, Soul!" Tsubaki calls cheerfully from her fallen partner's side.

* * *

He says that, but he's still afraid, and decides not to stop home at all, even though it's Christmas Eve and the partners had a promise to, no matter what argument they were in, exchange gifts like usual. He'd rather admire the fluorescent, flashing lights than see them knocking around in his head after an intensified Maka-Chop.

He hates to admit it, but he misses her. The real her. A lot.

He only wishes he were as good at mending things as he was at making a mess of them. He knows their relationship would be so much better than it was now. Than it is.

He wonders what Death City would look like with snow, like the Christmas he always imagined. He wonders what their apartment would look like if they both liked decorating for the holidays, if they liked each other. He somehow finds himself imagining them sitting incredibly close on the couch, and under the mistletoe hanging freely from their door.

"What am I thinkin'?" he shouts suddenly. Soul tries to erase all the ludicrous fantasies from his head (_is this what Maka's father goes through all the time? _he wonders).

_Gag me._

He sits on the edge of the fountain and listens to the lilting flow and melody of it. It eases his troubled mind for a while, and he starts to drift off into blurred, unclear thoughts and images.

He's startled, however, from his half-slumber at the sound of his name being called from across the way. He hears boots clumsily making their way toward him, familiar boots.

"Soul!"

She's out of breath by the time she reaches his side, clinging tight to a small brown package with fragile, bandaged fingers that look so frighteningly breakable beneath all the beautiful lights. He thinks of grabbing them and holding them to his heart, as if the shared brokenness between them would heal all the cuts, bumps and bruises they carried. He also wonders what made his imagination so wild in the past few hours.

"We had an agreement, remember? Even if we were in a fight," she says between labored breath, "we'd exchange." She puts the package on his lap, her accompanying smile (is this a part of his gift?) so real and so _Maka _that he savors it for a long time without realizing it. He hasn't seen it in so long that it's a sweet relief to his aching spirit, a balm. He's absolutely speechless for once in his life.

"Well," she continues, "aren't you going to open it? And I assume you still haven't gone shopping for me yet, huh?" She rolls her eyes, but to his comfort, is no longer up for feuding with him.

With their reunion out of the way and balance and harmony (the essence of the two of them) back in order, he begins to slowly unravel the present.

He's somehow even more speechless when he sees what it is. His jaw is slightly slack, and his eyes soften like the fabric as he runs his hand across it with the same gentleness that he presses on his piano keys.

In his lap is the jacket, his favorite yellow jacket, that got torn up in the first battle with Chrona so long ago sewn (partly) sloppily back together again.

She sits next to him, some sort of self-conscious pride shimmering in her eyes. "That's what I've been working on the past few weeks. It's why I've been up late, and why I have all these cuts on my hands, too. Mama never taught me how to do anything crafty like this because she couldn't herself, so I had to learn, and then do it. It's why I said you couldn't do it, either. Can you imagine the two of us trying to fix that one rip? It'd be a greater mess than before," she explained, her sentence like one big sigh of relief (he knew, most of all, that she hated to lie, especially to her partner). "It still didn't come out the way I wanted. I'm sorry."

The glow in her eyes turned guilty as she went on. "I know that jacket was precious to you, and I felt like it was my fault it got ripped, so I wanted to fix it. I really am sorry it's not like it used to be. I'm so-"

"It's better."

"Huh?" She turned to face him now, curious and also amazed words finally left his lips.

"It's better than it was before. Thanks." She's pulled into a hug so sudden it shocks them both. He's grinning now without even knowing it. "Battle scars are cool." His eyes grow serious as he disentangles himself and snags a hold of one of her hands. "Except this kind. This kind just worries me. Don't cover them up and hide them – try to make it better instead. You at least should have let me wrap these. What a shitty job with the band-aids, Maka. You're gonna get infected. Guaranteed."

"Then for my Christmas gift, can you maybe make these better? Pick out some 'cool' band-aids or something for me?"

"That's all ya want?" He seems surprised.

"Well, I really already got what I wanted a long time ago." She grins mischievously and walks ahead of them to their home.

"Yeah, yeah. Me, too, I guess," he mumbles under his breath.

"Oh, by the way, you gotta hear what Black Star used as a cover-up story for you."

"I already know. We had it all planned."

"What? That was… actually pretty damn good."

_A good partner, _they both thought.

The gift that keeps on giving.


	17. Takeout

**Disclaimer: **Don't own _Soul Eater. _Wish I did. Etc.

**Author's Note: **Oh, wow! It's been... a very long time since this has been updated. Nearly a year, if not one. And that's how it's been since I've written... _anything. _It's been a rollercoaster of a year. More bad than good, so I've been stressed. I couldn't afford another semester at college, so I've been working and working so I can go again in the spring. I start work at 5 AM some days! I'm always tired. But enough whining. Here's another... drabble. Or, I guess this is a one-shot. I'm very, _very _rusty. So this isn't writing like it used to be. I'm hoping that adding drabbles and chapters to this story will help me work out my kinks, so I hope no one minds me suddenly updating at a rapid pace! I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, and what better than to do it with my favorite manga couple? :) I missed them.

This chapter takes place I guess 4 or 5 years in the future? Interpret as you please! I boosted the years for various reasons; one is that I am in unfamiliar territory again and figure I can justify out-of-character moments as just them growing up. Haha. I'm sorry if they've gone too far out of character for comfort! I hope you all enjoy this.

This one definitely has a rating of **T. **Not sweet and sugary like my other ones. A little more tense.

Enough of my rambling... Let me know what you think! Thank you. I'd love to improve since I've been out of writing for so long now...

* * *

"Maka?"

"Mmm?" She poked the peas on her plate around with her fork and gradually buried each one in her untouched pile of mashed potatoes, as if they were hidden gems. Her mind clearly wandered.

"Maka." He tried his best to contain his agitation, but it grew steadily with her lack of attention.

"Yeah?" Her eyes still didn't meet his, locked on her lunch.

He pressed down on her foot with his own, _hard. _"Maka!"

Instantly he felt a book-shaped space in his head, and both stood up from their places, out of breath and ready for more.

"What?" she spat. Finally, their gazes matched, and immediately he relaxed, returning to his chair as if that moment had never broken out.

"I just wanted to ask why you seemed so out of it today."

"You couldn't obtain my full attention without causing me physical pain first?" She kept the book in a place visible to him on the table, just in case. "I was just thinking about something other than food, okay? I know that seems foreign to you, but some people are capable of it. Smart people. People that read, Soul." A touch of a smirk edged her lips.

Soul ignored the remark. "What are you thinkin' about?"

"Kid-kun asked me out on a date. Tonight." Her eyes glittered in an unfamiliar way in their dim kitchen light as she struggled to spill out the words. She felt he might react and be against it; well, she _hoped _he would be against it. She hoped he would tell her no, tell her he wanted to take her out instead. Tell her that he loved her, that he had always loved her and no other man would be able to have her.

"Ah, so flat-chested women are capable of getting dates after all, huh? What a crazy world." He chuckled slightly, and took another bite of his steak.

No shaky voice. No uncertainty. No sad ruby-red eyes. He did not reach out and grab her hand and hold her there, nor did he lean across the table and kiss her madly. He did not embrace her as she dreamed he would, holding her in his strong arms and not letting go for the rest of the night. He did not get angry. No change. No reaction at all. He felt nothing for her, just as she always feared. She felt the tears bubble, and walked into her room without another word.

If he wouldn't react, than she would pretend she hadn't, either.

But she did make sure to slam the door hard enough for him to hear.

For the first time in his life, Soul put more than half of his dinner into the trash. For the first time in his life, he had no appetite. He felt stomach sick, he felt heartsick. Like someone had reached inside him and wrung all the energy right out of his spirit till he couldn't breathe.

He, too, slammed his door.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tsubaki asked as she finished curling Maka's golden locks. Her friend's blue eyes looked just as sad outside as she felt, which only sank her heart deeper into its melancholy.

She tried not to cry, if only because Tsubaki had also just finished applying the perfect amount of mascara for her thin eyelashes. "Yeah," she whispered, fearing her voice could break if she brought it any higher. "Of course. Thank you."

"I'm afraid to ask, but… how was Soul about all of this?" She cleared her throat as a silence ensconced them both like a thick blanket. "Nevermind. Forget I asked. Sorry!"

"No, no. It's fine. He… didn't react at all. He was perfectly okay with it. So that's good. No fight." She absently played with one of her new curls, admiring herself briefly in her vanity. She really never thought herself to be beautiful, but her friend had transformed her into a potential model in just an hour. _If __only __I __had __a __more__… __voluptuous __body._She sighed.

_And __that__'__s __why __she__'__s __not __okay._Tsubaki kneeled to be on eye level with her best friend. She smiled sullenly and held Maka's tiny hand in her own. "If you don't want to do it, don't. You're only playing with your own heart. Don't make your very first date a bad one. You can only have so many firsts." She rose again and began packing her things away to give her meister friend some time alone to –hopefully – think it over again before launching into a relationship she clearly didn't want.

"I know." She returned the smile. "Thank you again, Tsukbaki-chan. You're so patient."

"It's hard not to be after living with Black Star," she said, and they both eased up and laughed.

* * *

Maka slowly sauntered down the steps, still not used to heels. They were firetruck red, and she almost felt embarrassed by how bold she looked in her outfit. It seemed like the ensemble by itself had more sex appeal than her body did, though she had become a _little_busty over the past few years. And kind of curvy… Her dad would go white as a ghost within a second if he saw her in the tight, short black dress and then saw her red lips and eyeliner and blush and red earrings and…

She hated it. She liked the other Maka, the one in the plaid skirt and big boots and trenchcoat. The one who didn't care about dates or boys, but only about studying surrounded with the crisp smell of old books and other quiet students. The one who found great strength in sweeping the streets of evil kishin, the one who felt no fear even in the face of death.

The one who cared so deeply about Soul it made her fragile just thinking about it.

She felt her hands clutch the dress at her sides as she held back another urge to breakdown right there in the doorway and sob.

She tensed up as she grabbed the doorknob. She tried not to think about where Soul lingered in the eerily peaceful house. She tried not to think about just curling up on their old, threadbare couch and watching TV feeling safe with her partner flicking channels by her side.

A hand much bigger than hers grasped hers and whipped her around.

"Maka."

She spun around so quickly she saw his familiar image spin for a few beats first.

"Um." He obviously hadn't thought over what he meant to say before facing her to him. "You…" Soul especially couldn't think as he looked her up and down unashamedly. He tried, at least, to disguise a rush of lust washing over him like a tidal wave. He could scarcely breathe. He felt so many firsts tonight: skipping dinner and having an incredibly strong appetite for his partner.

"Sorry," he said out loud.

"For what?" Maka contained her happiness at seeing him look at her that way.

He leaned onto the door, keeping her trapped closed to him and unable to move. "Thinking terrible thoughts," he murmured, hoping she wouldn't hear.

"It's okay," she responded. "I… It kind of made me feel good about… myself."

They both turned as red as her shoes in the silence.

"I don't want you to go. I didn't want to from the start but I know I can't stop you." Soul spoke before he could control himself. He lost the "cool," but didn't care. _He_wanted her. All to himself. No Kid involved. The thought of someone else taking her out on her first date made him cringe. But what made him especially sick was the thought of Kid taking her first kiss, which he wanted. Or the thought of his hands on her hips and in her hair…

"But please don't go," he continued.

"Why should I stay?" she snapped. "You didn't stop me when I told you before."

He moved to face her, their lips mere centimeters apart, their breath mingling. "Because I snuck a peek at your dress and I really wanted to see you in it." He leaned around and nibbled on the lobe of her ear, setting her nerves on fire. "You look… sexy." Soul never imagined saying those words to Maka, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't contain the urges any longer without getting too rough.

He locked the door, and kissed her.

They'd be dining in tonight.


	18. Home

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **Sorry to change writing styles so frequently... I guess I'm still trying to fit back into my old style and failing miserably. Haha. And I really also need to more positively charge my life, apparently. I promise the next one will be happier. And who knows, maybe I'll put a second part for this one in later; even I hate the way it ended.

Thank you for the reviews I received last time! For some reason it would only let me thank everyone personally as a personal message... Sorry!

* * *

This is their apartment.

There's a kitchen, where they used to cook for each other. There are dirty dishes piled up high in the sink. A chair is tucked in but another is pulled out, as if someone is still sitting there. There's only, however, a familiar purple cat sleeping in the center of the table.

When she looks right there's a livingroom. There's a threadbare couch where they've sat and laughed and watched TV, and even once huddle under a blanket when the electricity fizzed out. The TV isn't on now. The blanket is torn in half. Their Christmas tree is still there but the ornaments never made it to the branches before the incident. IT looks not festive, or cheery, but looks sad and dark, like it's mourning the loss of a holiday that had yet to pass.

After she searches the rooms and calls his name a few times, she remembers. There's a kitchen, a livingroom, bedrooms and bathrooms and decorations and dishes but there's no Soul. There's only her. Her and the affectionate cat that Maka also remembers isn't even _really _a cat. The loneliness soaks straight into her skin like rain and weighs her down.

There's no one here.

No one to cook for, no one to clean up after. No one to complain about, no one to complain to. No one.

Her world is the same but does not feel like it spins anymore. The axis is missing. She crumbles onto the couch like the bag of bones she is. She puts the blanket on piece by piece, then attempts to seal her eyes shut. She wants to fade like the color from her covers.

This is her second night home alone in the house they created for years together. She's barely eaten enough to survive. Besides school, a guarantee for a daily unbearable encounter with an old friend, she does this. She convinces herself that rotting away gives her what she deserves for the way she acted to cause this disharmony.

The quiet suffocates her and she feels like this place is a coffin.

She wishes she could become a _kishin. _She wants her soul stolen and eaten so it can become a part of something big, greater, and more beautiful. Something more than it is now: wilted like a flower with no sunlight.

It's her fault, him moving out. It's an unusually disruptive fight that broke their hearts. It's her stubbornness that split their soul resonance and their peace.

All he simply wanted from her was a relationship. Nothing too involved. Nothing more than it really was when she thought about it now. What they had, with their feelings in plain view and occasionally a candlelit dinner or two and a sleepover.

She said she wasn't sure she was ready, but she knew in her heart, she really was. She didn't know how but it erupted, she cried, and he said those three words and kicked him out without even thinking it over first like a truly mature person.

Her parents – mostly her dad – had bent her this way, she figures. Trusting men goes against her moral code.

But really, who did she trust more than Soul, her best friend of almost ten years?

She wants him back. She wants him here with his arms around her like she's always dreamed about. She wants their legs entangled, the TV on, some rain pattering on the windows to soothe them both to sleep. She wants laughter. She wants rides on his motorcycle. She wants her life back: She wants Soul.

Now her attitude stains it. Stains their place with silence. She waits around like she waits for a funereal, for death. She waits for a knock on the door that she knows will never find hers again.

This isn't a fight over burnt curry that can be easily resolved. This is a fight with feelings her heart and his can't seem to handle.

She cries and cries until she finally beings to doze away. When she wakes up, her blanket is new and whole. She runs excitedly up the stairs to his room but finds it completely empty. His belongings were moved in the night, while she slept.

She collapses on his still-warm bed.

This was their apartment.


	19. Change

**Disclaimer: **don't own it, wish I did, generic sarcastic, unfunny disclaimer written by me.

**Author's Note: **Well, summer's finally here. Now I have time to write. Though I know I should be working on my chapter stories, this drabble demanded to be written. Plus, Soul and Maka will just always be my favorite... I guess this takes place around chapter 76 or so, when Soul becomes a deathscythe and gets more and more offers from outside meisters. Or you can just say this takes place a few years post-manga maybe, because I'd say their age is probably like 17 or 18 and so it makes more sense to say that okay too much rambling. A little OOC for Maka... maybe. Her confidence shatters every so often. She's a normal girl inside somewhere, after all. Enjoy. :) I hope I personally thanked everyone who reviewed last time! I love them. They're helpful and encouraging as always.

* * *

Love letters, confessions, serious offers. All of them piling in his locker cause changes in her that he notices immediately – starting with the small things.

Like her hair – the pigtails unravel like loosened ribbons, and her dusted-golden waves stretch now beyond her small shoulders. She keeps her hair like this every single day now, and when he asks her about it, she says that it's simply because it is getting colder. But he knows something must be up because they live in Nevada where frost has never taken residence besides the edges of his soul.

Her eyes start to seem wider and brighter somehow, emboldened and accentuated by expertly-applied eyeliner and a light dusting of rouge. The always looked like emeralds to him, but lately it's almost like they have been polished. He asks her where she learned to do that, to apply makeup when femininity is so often the last thing in her mind, and he asks her why. She shrugs, says Liz has been increasingly eager to experiment with new products and that her face is the perfect blank slate for her to start on. Soul leers in suspicion but doesn't bother to prod her further.

She starts to gain weight and height in all the right places, much to his meister's misfortune. He cannot seem to keep his eyes from wandering to her blossoming bosom, her growing curves, her behi-

"_Maka-Chop!"_

And her outfits gradually grow shades lighter, tighter, and shorter, which brings out a jealousy he can barely contain as he catches other men in the halls ogling her shapely legs, her newly highlighted curves. It's bad enough fighting one demon within him, and now it feels like there are two taking residence within him. He even ends up punching a fellow student in the face as soon as she's out of earshot for a snide comment that leaves him sizzling like a chili pepper, and ends up in detention, his second home as of late.

The bigger changes are the most obvious: her shopping trips with Tsubaki are more and more frequent, invitations she used to try and find excuses to get herself out of. She relates more to Blair. Her laugh has more of a chime-like, bubbly overtone to it. She spends more time with the girls, and starts to take on their tips, he assumes, when it comes to men. Him, most especially, it seems. She takes a sudden interest in his music, his jazz records despite how she proclaims to hate them and not comprehend them. She deliberately allows their hands and skin to graze when she tries to wrestle the remote from him on their late-night TV binges, purposely bends and contorts herself to give him a glimpse of what's beneath these new form-fitting clothes shamelessly. She's becoming nearly as coy as a cat when it comes to him, and somehow, it twists his stomach into sailor-tight knots.

What if she does this to other Shibusen students? What if he's like a guinea pig for her new temptress tricks? He almost wants to warn her father to get her to stop.

He wishes she would return to the old Maka, the one that belonged solely to him, and he alone. The tiny Maka that he wished he could shrink and have sit in his pocket, protected forever. The one that read books as they listened to classical music in silence, despite her protests. The one that could live in a library, would be content to be a book gathering dust on Shibusen shelves. The only one out of the hundred or so letters and offers he received that truly mattered to him.

"Damn it," he mutters as another lonely night goes by, her out with the girls doing Shinigama-sama-only-knows-what.

"Damn it," he mutters as he realizes how much he misses her.

* * *

Soul changes, too, but only because she does. It's almost as if his soul is determined to keep pace with hers, as if they are wound together spiritually, two vines overlapping on an old brick wall.

He loses his temper more easily, if only because her exposing herself to all the perverted men of their school halls has him constantly on edge. He never misses a day of school because he feels the urge to protect her from all wandering eyes that were not ruby-red and accompanied by shark-esque pearly whites.

He's taller, too. His alabaster hair grows out a little more. His outfits clean up – less pants hanging off his hips and shoes that don't occasionally slip off. Less t-shirts and more presentable uniform.

It's uncool, but he's more easily stressed. Maybe because he senses a rift between he and his most precious friend. He also senses an uncanny attraction to her that sits like a tarp on his heart, and can not so easily be peeled away.

The vines are still entwined at the roots, but begin to grow in different directions.

Soul sits in his room more, leaves the light out as much as possible. He is like a plant that thrives on darkness, and she is sunshine.

"Soul?" she asks hesitantly, knocks softly on his door. "Will you please come out? I feel like we haven't talked in a while." He can hear the sincerity in her voice, the genuine concern, but somehow it grates on his ears and he shuts her out. He doesn't speak a word to her.

He doesn't deserve her. He should've already noticed her beauty prior to these developments. He does not deserve her now. He should've noticed already that they were growing away from each other and done something about it before it was too late.

"Leave me alone."

* * *

They sit at the dinner table in tense silence. The only sound is scraping forks and chewing. He feels like they're strangers, and it makes him sick.

They finish in the same thick quiet that threatens to choke him. He gets up and starts to wash, and she starts to dry. Purposely, he figures, she lets their fingertips brush as she takes a plate from him.

It startles him, it makes him irate, and he drops the dish. The silence is shattered in a million pieces just like the plate.

"Stop it," he says suddenly. "Stop, Maka. What are you doing? What are you trying to do to me?" He impatiently stomps to the closet and gets out the dustpan and broom, and begins sweeping up the shambles. Angry beyond repair, he's unaware of his surroundings and steps on a sharp piece of glass. His blood gushes, the color of his infuriated eyes, and mixes with the soap bubbles gathering on the tiled floor.

"I wanted you to notice me! I grew up!" she shouts back. "I wanted you to look at me. As not just your meister but as a _girl_."

Tears mix with the odd cocktail on the kitchen ground, and before he can apologize she's hidden herself away in her room.

He's lucky she didn't bother to lock her door, but unlucky because that means she's probably beyond enraged at him. During their normal fights she locks it, because she's not mad to the point of incoherency. Now she is. This is a real fight, he realizes, and the notion has his heart and stomach doing quirky flipflops again.

"Maka," he whispers into the dark of her room, and as seconds tick by without a response he wonders if the blackness sucked it in.

"Maka," he tries again. Before he can stop himself he flicks on the light, afraid that the shadows are really stealing his voice from him, stealing his best friend away.

She shuffles deeper under her covers, wrapping her vulnerable, sniveling self from his steely view.

"Get out!" Her voice is hoarse.

"No." He limps over and rips the covers off of her against her will, and he feels almost like he's trying to smoke out a stubborn fox from its deep hole. She curls up, a withering vine. Shriveling away from him.

"_No," _he says again, flipping her around to face him. She catches the seriousness in his tone and eyes, and stays put, but her glare doesn't loosen in the slightest. He groans, and kneels down by the bed to get to her level. "I'm sorry."

"Hmph."

"I thought you said you grew up."

"Only physically."

"Honest as always." He runs a hand through his hair impatiently. "I'm sorry, Maka. I really am."

She relaxes visibly. "I know." She bites her lip. "I guess to continue on the honesty thing, I overreacted. And for that, _I'm _sorry. I must have really confused you with all of the sudden changes." She disconnects their gazes for a brief moment. "But you were just getting so many of these letters - _love _letters - and I got really nervous that you would consider them. And so I told all of the girls and they suggested that I try to… s-seduce you to get you to stay around." Her face rivals the color of a fresh cherry. She covers her mournful expression with her hands and a few more tears slip from the cracks in her fingers. "I didn't know what else to do. You even said that women like Blair would make the best partners, and I don't have any-"

Soul quiets her uproar with a soft kiss, then pulls away. He smirks, his trademark that instantly puts the brakes on her speeding heart. "I was just teasing you, Maka. And if I knew you took my insults so seriously I wouldn't say them. It's not cool to break a pretty girl's heart, especially your partner's. Your partner for life's. These letters mean nothing to me, and you should know that," he chides gingerly. He sighs, and continues. "And I _did _notice you. Trust me. I didn't know how to react when all of a sudden we both have raging hormones for each other and live under the same damn roof."

She looks shy, another change in her that he notices – she embarrasses so easily. "You could just kiss me again." She can't meet his gaze.

He looks taken aback for a moment, then gladly acquiesces, running a hand through her longer hair, and across all the other new changes she's developed over time with all the expertise a pianist's fingers carry.

Maybe he's okay with this new Maka, after all. They share roots.

He leans back after a while. "You know, it's pretty cool that you're not tinytits anymore."

"Get _out!"_

Maturity still seems out of reach for us, he thinks as he takes a large encyclopedia to the skull.


	20. Fear

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it anfjsndjgnjnsndg

**Author's Note: **First I'd like to thank **SilverStella, EvilInsideandOut, Sincerely The Sign Painter, Kountry101, and Lucy Ashley from Fairy Tail **for the reviews for the last chapter. :)

Second, just as a forewarning this one has a lot of dark moments, and vague spoilers for the Book of Eibon arc in the manga... which is somewhere past chapter 60, I think? xD It's up there but I promise it's not a huge spoiler. Just Maka dealing with Giriko essentially threatening her and hurting Soul at some point in time that is really only pivotal to their relationship, and not the _Soul Eater _plot itself.

I really have to write some lighter drabbles/etc. because I'm starting to depress myself.

...Well, enjoy!

* * *

Maka Albarn does not feel fear, she tells herself. Fear leads to insanity and insanity leads to inhumanity, she realizes. She's seen it. She's skipped fear and gone straight to insanity once. She does feel that, and it's the worst, she thinks. She remembers the black blood swallowing up Soul. So to avoid the black blood consuming both her soul and her partner's, she does not feel fear. Fear is like her shadow that stands close behind her, but reaches only the edges of her feet. She only stands on it and senses it, nothing more.

She senses her fingers as they thrum the table, as well. She senses how her breathing elevates at the dining room table without warning, like a glacial wind on a sticky summer day. She feels her pupils dilate and her mouth dry up, feels her teeth chomping on her bottom lip. Her heart hammers and it feels like the world might suck her in from her wooden floors. She has a sensation of sinking she cannot quite explain, only feel. Maka senses her thighs when they start to quake; it starts at her toes where she knows the shadow is lurking and moves up to her arms and forces her to drop the fork into her plate with an unsightly clatter.

She knows Soul yells, but not what it means. Her ears are ringing and that is all she knows. Her world is blurred. She sees images of an ugly man with chainsaws attached to his body slicing through her best friend; blood sprays from him like ink from a pen split in half. She leaves without warning, so quick that she even forgets to lock the door behind her.

She never forgets to lock the door. It keeps the other shadows out.

* * *

Maka Albarn does not rely on men. She learned that from her father. She does not trust them; she cannot. She brushes them off just as she does fear, and loathing. She does not have time for their foolish, lust-driven antics. She only has time for running, and running, and running.

Running until her breathing outdoes her heart and it constricts her small lungs and her world turns as black as the blood boiling in her partner's veins somewhere deep, somewhere she cannot reach. Something she cannot heal. Something she cannot control.

She cannot control men. She cannot control the blood. She's lost control and it makes her off-kilter.

She could not control it because she had feared. She fears she is not good enough for her partner and then almost lost him completely. That's also why she cannot feel fear, and why she cannot rely on him, or anyone. If she fears she'll lose him. She'll lose everything with fear within her.

Even though his strong, scarred arms swooping her up and carrying her safely home is what she feels, and it feels amazing.

* * *

Maka Albarn is sleepless only because of nightmares. Nightmares are not fear. Bad dreams are an outlet for fear so she appreciates their dark beauty, like she would an obscure work of art. Like Soul's demonic piano pieces and his sardonic smiles.

She wakes up screaming because she's smart, booksmart, and so her dreams are naturally more vivid, more realistic and tangible. She uses her imagination often when she reads so her dreams have more color, and last longer after she stirs from a deep sleep in a cold sweat. She can nearly feel Giriko's blades on her own skin and his rotten, sour breath in her face as he presses her against a wall and threatens her innocence with Soul struggling and howling in pain somewhere in the background because she felt the fear, even if it lasted only a few minutes.

Bags appear under her eyes like bruises because she stays up too late studying for the exams next week. It's stress, not fear. It's all stress, she tells Soul, but she knows he's not convinced. He's been hounding her for weeks, and almost breaks down her door every single time she wakes up clutching her sheets like they're her lifeline. But she never lets him in.

She cannot forget to lock the door, after all. Not again. That's how the anxiety starts to creep in, a skeleton in the closet becoming human again.

* * *

Maka Albarn feels like she's sinking into her bed because she's sleeping in a bad position. She feels like she's sinking into her own skin because she has pins and needles, that's all.

Maka Albarn skips a meal because the stress of exams is giving her heartburn, that's all. She skips a night out with friends because she's tired. She'll be able to sleep now that exams are done for the semester.

Maka Albarn wakes up on the cool bathroom floor in a daze because the exams were rough. Because it's that time of month next week. Because Soul isn't home and she's not used to being alone in this old apartment, with its eerie creaks and leaks.

Maka Albarn can be alone, though. Because she does not fear and she does not rely on men, even when she starts to shake again as if Death City is crumbling like a ghost town, despite how it sings with life beneath her through humming lampposts and distant, tinkling laughter.

She gets up and splashes icy water in her face to snap her out of it. She recovers quickly, because she's Maka Albarn.

She sees Giriko smirking at her in the mirror and laughs.

* * *

She curls up on her bed in her lime-striped pajamas and stares out the window at some faraway point with no real distinction or silhouette. She takes comfort in the window, because she's looking outside at the lively city, and not at a reflection full of chainsaws and not at her brain cobwebbed with blood-saturated memories.

After an hour of this she feels it again as if her shadow is replacing her real body: heartrate first, breathing next, and then the shaking. She cannot control the shaking and that makes her tremble more.

"Damn it, Maka. Stop hiding this and face it. It's not cool to shut me out of your problems when you're so bent on being in mine."

Maka's eyes are clouded, and wide as she turns to her partner shrugging off his jacket in her doorway. She forgot to lock the door again. She's glad, for some reason. Because when he wanders over wordlessly and holds her as tight to him as he can, her shaking slows.

Because when he strokes her still-damp hair and breathes against her neck, her heartrate is erratic in a pleasant way.

"Breathe from your stomach," he says, his quiet voice like a guiding light for her asunder soul. "Hold it in for three seconds, and slowly let it out."

Soul reaches around and holds both her hands, and they're so close she feels as if he's become a part of her, as if he can sense all she is sensing, too. She lets her eyelids flutter close and does as he instructs, allowing him to become a part of her problem, allowing him into her tiny world that seems to grow smaller each time she pushes him, and fear, away.

* * *

Maka Albarn wakes up in bed refreshed and next to her partner. She forgot to lock the door, and that's fine, because only Soul lives here and he can come in whenever he wants. And even though he's a man, she can trust him. Because he's not just any man, he's Soul. He's her Soul and he felt what she felt and he's as much a part of her life as her heartbeat, equally as familiar.

Though she cannot help but reach for a tissue to wipe the slobber away before it hits her pillow. There are some exceptions even she will never tolerate, even if she does love him just the slightest bit.

He rolls over and catches her off-guard with his blank, too-serious expression.

She frowns in response.

"Maka," he starts, and his voice reminds her of being scolded, and she feels she might shy away from him again. Maka Albarn does not do reprimands well. It's on the fear level to her.

He reaches over and grabs her hand, as if he knew she considered escaping. He knows her too well, even without holding her close.

"You're afraid," he says with conviction. "What are you afraid of?"

She shakes her head. "I don't fear."

He rolls his red eyes in exasperation. "Just admit it. You're afraid of something, and hiding it is making you fall apart like this. What is it? You know you can't lie to me."

She sighs, because he's right. He'll find out sooner or later if she doesn't just admit it now, both to him and herself. Because she's been trying to conceal it from herself, too.

"Giriko," she mumbles, close to inaudible.

He opens his mouth but she stops him. "Almost killing you because I was afraid I wasn't good enough for you when I know that's not true, not after last night. So I told myself that I don't fear anything. I never would again because it put your life in danger. But I am. I see him everywhere. Even in my sleep, I see him killing you and it kills me."

"I used to have panic attacks," he says out of nowhere, and she remains quiet. She's almost eager, in a way, because he never mentions even the smallest fragment about his past and she wants to put the puzzle together, just like he does with her. She's missing so many pieces even though she can envision the whole picture.

"Because I bottled things up like you. And it made me sick and unhappy all the time. My parents wanted me on suicide watch for a while." His eyes drift to the window. "Not that they would've cared, either way, not with the success my brother put our family name in." Soul's intense gaze returns to hers, and she feels her cheeks warm. "But I came here, and I met you, and everyone else, and I knew that I couldn't do that to myself anymore. Because I have people who care and who don't want to see me destroy myself slowly."

It's silent for a long stretch of time, but a quaint sort of silence that only close friends can have without awkward tension or a need to fill it. They don't need to apologize or argue or anything. They just need to be in the same room. They're connected, so they don't need any more words to understand what is meant by any of what they said. They both drop the subject and it's okay. They're okay. Maka Albarn and Soul Eater Evans are healing. Because they do fear and they do trust. And it hurts. Because they leave their doors open and lights on until they know the other person is sound asleep.

She lays down next to him and they stay like that for a long enough time for someone outside of them to paint a picture, without needing all the pieces to get it just right.


	21. Family

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it, etc.

**Author's Note: **Obviously it's been a while since I've updated (but it always seems to be that way, which is why I guess I chose a continuous drabble story instead of a long-term one. I wrote this while "studying" for an accounting exam I have tomorrow. I'm rusty. I need to get back into my groove, but it's been hard, because I'm also taking a nonfiction writing workshop, which hinders my fiction-writing ability... a lot. My life's very busy - I work 35 hours a week and go to college full-time. I'm tired. But I tried, and I guess that's what matters?

Anyway... I know a lot of people put the blame on Maka's dad for being so flimsy (and I get it), but sometimes in my headcanon, I think, but what about her mom? So... Thank you for all of the reviews last time. :) They inspire me.

* * *

The only guidance she receives from her mother is always – unfailingly - in the form of a postcard, and she's never sure what to make of it. Her father's a flake – and a floozy - but somehow, he's always been more reliable and more dedicated to Maka than her mother is, or ever would be.

The postcards travel from nearly every place she can think of: Israel, Chile, Canada, South Africa. Places she can't think of: Easter Island, Ivory Coast, Siberia. The pictures are images she can find on the Internet, in a history textbook. There's no feeling to them, no personalization. She feels almost like they're penpals instead of family.

It's the simplicity and timing of the messages that cement in their ever-growing distance. It's always on her birthday, from a new country, and the words could be for absolutely anyone else in the world.

_To my dearest Maka,_

_I know you are turning eighteen soon. Congratulations on making it this far in life; believe me when I say that's an accomplishment. The world is a dark place, but you are a source of light for those you surround. I feel it in my heart from where I am. You've got an enormous soul; let it shine. I hope to someday see it myself – I bet it's as pure and as beautiful as you._

_Remember that your soul is a flower that needs to be cared for just like any other part of your being. It needs water, it needs sunshine, and it needs love. Especially the last one (just don't let a smooth-talker fool you like one did to me). _

_I wish I was there to guide you. I really do. I know you need a mother, especially at this age. And I'm sorry you don't have one with you._

_You see, Maka -_

The rest is ruined, and that's what makes this year different from the rest. Maka feels like a large part of her letter is missing, like she's halfway through a novel and the pages with the pivotal plot point have been ripped out. She huffs in aggravation and pins it to her corkboard along with all the others, observes the cheesy sunset over the Egyptian sea with disinterest and makes her way to the breakfast table to go about her day like she never read the disastrous postcard at all.

But still, the words rattle around in her head like bones.

_I know you need a mother..._

Of course she doesn't, she's Maka. She's never needed her mother before and she certainly doesn't now. And for that matter, she needs no father, either. She's always been fine on her own. Always.

She wonders why her eggs taste so bad today. It has nothing to do at all with raising herself, and everything to do with her looming mid-terms, she tells herself, over and over, until that reason is consumed by the smudged letter.

_I know you need a mother..._

_No, I don't,_ Maka replies in her head. _No, I definitely don't,_ she thinks again and again until she can think no more and her voice and her mother's meld into one jumbled mess in her head.

* * *

When she needed to go bra shopping the first time, she called Tsubaki (she's almost expert in this department). When she needed makeup tips, she reluctantly talked it over with Liz (and scary though it was, Kid). Fashion advice came from all the girls she knew (aside from Patty, who suggested footy pajamas). She's resourceful, too, of course – natural remedies for cramps and migraines came from online and magazines so chock-full of ads she begun to wonder if there were any articles in them at all.

"Maka?"

A familiar voice snaps her with the violence of an elastic band from her reverie.

"Mmm?" she mutters in half-hearted response as she flips another page of her book, which she's suddenly forgotten the title of. Her nostalgia-glazed jade eyes match his ruby-red ones near-instantaneously in the eventide light as he steps into her room.

"What do you want for dinner? It's your turn to pick."

She's not sure if it's maybe because she's turning eighteen next week and her hormones fluctuate as often as the wind changes direction, or maybe if it's because he's already eighteen and ten times taller than he was when she first met him, or maybe it's just that she realizes she's known him almost her whole entire life, or maybe it's his alabaster hair glittering dimly in the hazel glow of the dying Nevada sun – or maybe it's everything combined, but, she blushes furiously and can only give him a feeble reply of, "Pizza."

He raises an eyebrow and snorts. "What? Are you kiddin' me? What an uncool thing to ask for."

"You said I could have anything I wanted."

"I said it was your turn to pick. Not mutually exclusive."

"'Mutually exclusive'? Since when do you talk like that?"

He shrugs.

Maka feels like she's missed out on a part of his life, somehow. A huge part. She sighs, closes her book, and slides it onto her nightstand. She doesn't remember when he started to speak like that. Like an adult. Or maybe he changed right here, in this apartment, and she was just too wrapped up in her childish worries all these years to really care. Or maybe she noticed and she didn't want to acknowledge it, that they were both becoming different people but still sharing the same space – the one constant in their relationship, this threadbare house.

Again, it's like a novel with the important pages torn free, floating somewhere in Death City, far, far away from her reach. Just like her mother.

Almost imaginary.

"Maka?"

The meister thinks again of the words on the postcard: "_I know you need a mother." _

Slowly, she senses the truth in them. She wants to know why it is her heart does a jive when she sees him, even though she sees him at least twenty times a day. She wants to know why even when he's dozing off on their couch with spittle oozing from between his sharp teeth she's not grossed out but endeared. She wants to know why when he's sick (very rarely) she wants to care for him. She wants to know why she wants to crawl into bed with him at night, and share dreams.

Actually, she knows. She just wants to confirm. She just wants to talk about this blossoming love (that's actually been blossoming an awful long time) with someone who'd understand completely. With someone unbiased. That's never been an option.

Her soul twists like a ribbon and she becomes cognizant of the fact that he can feel it, too. And she becomes aware, too late, that he's sitting beside her on the bed with his firm, calloused hand on her soft, sun-pinkened shoulder.

"S-Soul?"

"Maka, tell me what's been bothering you. You've been moping since this morning and it's been bothering _me._" His ruddy glare unsettles her in every way. She leans away, which only draws him closer.

"I'm fine," she retorts, as stubborn as he.

"Then why are you cryin', idiot?"

"I... I am?"

She reaches toward her left eye, and feels it – the droplet of salted water teetering on the top of her cheekbone. "Ah," she says, on the edge just like the tear. About to drop down, down – even further away from all the missing pages of the important people in her life floating high above her head. "No. I... I can explain."

He waits so patiently, and so lovingly, it almost breaks her entirely; a vase full of fresh flowers hitting concrete. Everything scatters at once – the water, the stems, the petals. Everything inside of her moves away so fast she can't catch any of them.

"I can explain," she shouts, just before the sobbing starts and gives her such severe tremors it's like the whole bed is shaking. "I got a letter from my mother this year."

"You get one every year," he uselessly points out.

"But that's exactly the point!" She takes a sniveling, labored breath. "Every year, it's the same, sentimental bullcrap! Maka, my dear, dear daughter, you have a beautiful soul, keep it alive – blah, blah, blah! If she really cared, wouldn't she be here? I know it seems like my father is the coward, but isn't it really my mother? She ran from all her problems! She left me behind!" Maka puts her head in his lap, and lets the sorrow flow freely onto his old sweatpants, in this old house, with an old wound reopened. "She left me on my own. I need my mother. I need her. I thought I didn't, but I do."

Soul says nothing, but it's fine that way. He brushes the soaked, ash-blonde hairs away from her bloodshot eyes and traces lazy circles on her heaving back.

After she starts to settle down, drowsiness filling the vacancies her tears left behind, he finally whispers, "You're okay without her. And you do have a beautiful soul."

"It doesn't mean I like it."

He chuckles. "I understand."

And she knows he does, somehow.

"Okay. Thanks, Soul."

"Thank me with some pizza."

"When I wake up," she murmurs as she starts to sleep.

* * *

_You see, Maka -_

_Your beautiful soul is what will carry you through life (it does have wings, you know), and that is why you need to care for it, and that is why you won't actually ever need me (whether you want me or not). Not only do you radiate warmth to those who need it, but you will also attract friends who will take care of you, because that's the kind of person you are. _

_You're the kind of person who can find and bring out the best in others. _

_Especially the one you eventually will come to love. Yours will be a love so strong you won't quite know how to handle it, and that's okay; it's okay to be confused about it. Because you're also the kind of person who can solve almost any problem in life. You're the opposite of me, and that's a wonderful thing. You'll know what I mean someday, whether you figure it out now, at eighteen, or when you're thirty._

_Happy birthday._

_Love,_

_your mama. _


	22. Holiday

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it blahblah

**Author's Note: **I know it's a little early for something Christmas themed but I'm unusually pumped about the holiday this year. Which is saying a lot, because normally I really hate Christmas. Anyway, I kind of forced this out so it's definitely not my best work... I'm a little overworked in school and part-time job so I've lost a will to write. But hopefully, my next updates will be better and be a little more inspired.

Thank you for the reviews **Lizzie, SilverStella, and Lucy Ashley from Fairy Tail! **And thanks for all the views and follows. :) Every little thing helps me.

* * *

"I can't believe we're already settin' the tree up, Maka. It's not even December yet." He snorts and places it not-so-gently in their new tree-stand. He struggles to pull his hands off of it because of the amber-stained sap that drips over his needle-nicked hands. He considers turning his arm into a scythe and just slicing the pine to pieces like an onion on a chopping block, but resists the urge and saves his head from an oversized book for now.

"I have a strict schedule and doing this early is a big part of it," she responds like it makes absolute sense.

Soul grins and steps over to her, wiggling his sap-soaked fingers threateningly. "Is this part of your plan, too?" He laughs at the fear in her eyes.

"Don't come any closer or I swear I will -" She trips mid-sentence over her box of ornaments and sees no escape.

"Or you will what?" His fingers hover dangerously close to her face, and some tree-residue slides onto her scrunched-up nose.

His answer is a firm kick to his crotch and pain that will cause him more grief than the scar slanted across his chest.

* * *

After an hour of "uncool" whining and holding an unflattering bag of ice to his groin, he grudgingly decides to assist Maka in hanging her tiny box of ornaments, if only for fear of another incident resulting in an inability to have kids in the future. The coffer at her feet of festive ruby-coated ribbons, old candy canes, and other jingling objects seems old, untouched. Dust sits on the edges of much of the decorations and he can't help but wonder why.

"I found these in my closet the other day," she murmurs as if in answer to his unspoken question as she stoops down to pick through a few glitter-stuck fake snowflakes. "I didn't realize I had even brought them with me. These are from when mama and papa and I used to hang these up together. Most of them are pretty old." She laughs, though it sounds somewhat forced. "Some are even broken because papa is such a klutz. Mama always used to get so mad." She sighs. "But the fixable kind of mad. He'd always run to the store to buy a new one to replace whatever he broke."

Maka pulls out a long string of multi-colored lights and starts to thread it through the branches. When she finishes, she plugs them in and stands back with satisfaction in seeing that they still work, even after years in hiding in the dark of her closet. Soul smiles to himself when he sees her viridian glow with the twinkle of the lights. He'd rather stare at her than the gaudy tree, but turns back to shuffling through the ornaments when she throws him an inquisitive glance.

He picks out a reindeer with a red nose and hides his blush behind its fake glow as she grabs her tufts of golden and scarlet garland.

"Hey, Soul," she starts as she weaves that around the lights, "did you ever do this sort of thing with your family?"

He can tell by her intense gaze at the tree that she does not require – or even expect – an answer out of him. He's always had his lips tightly sealed about his past, and she's always been open about hers. That is their greatest contradiction, he thinks in the quiet that settles on them like the grime that resides on her older garnishments rolling around in the box. Her need to know everything possible and his need to hide all he can within reasonable limits.

He glances at her out of the corner of his sanguine eyes, and takes her in highlighted by the red-and-green radiance. He is amazed, once again, by both her overflowing curiosity but how she keeps it in check for his sake – she won't push him for the information she wants. And that, he realizes, is why he has grown to love her so much. Her reverence for every single thing that owned a beating heart.

She treats even Blair, a cat who may or may not have at one point horsed around with her unfaithful father in human form, with the same respect she treats him, who has stood by her side for years and years now. And in becoming aware of that, he decides to open up, if only a crack.

"We sort of did," he admits, "but only to impress the neighbors, to keep up our 'good family' image for all of my family's music junkies. My parents never did it for Wesley, or for me, but for a public image, so it was really no fun." He pulls out another reindeer and places it next to the last one he hung up.

"I see," she says. She smiles, dazzling like the star she situates on the top of the pine as she turns back to him. "Then we'll do this every year, just for you, Soul. It'll be like our own... family tradition."

He shakes the embarrassing thought of their children from his jumbled mind and grins in return. "It's a deal."

"Oh!" Maka grabs a bag from the corner of the room she'd explicitly told him not to touch in the past few days. "I bought this for you, by the way. I didn't want you to be left out since all these ornaments kinda belong to me."

She presses a box into his palm and eagerly awaits his expression upon opening it.

He plucks a mini, satin-covered record from the package and smiles warmly. Painted on the back in his partner's somewhat messy scrawl is his name and the year. He places it proudly on the tree between some of the blinking, tiny lights.

"I hope it's okay," she says nervously. "You know I don't know much about music but it seemed nice..."

Soul walks over and gives her an unexpected bear hug. "Thanks, Maka. That was real cool of you."

She leans into his tight grip, and they both admire the tree.

This wasn't part of her plan, but it's a much better result than she hoped for.


	23. Friction

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it.

**Author's Note: **I'm not all that proud of this chapter, but I had fun writing it? Maybe I'll go back and edit tomorrow. I have a cold today so I'm not feeling so great but... anyway. This was based off a prompt from a tumblr blog: _Imagine your OTP eating lunch together in a crowded place, perhaps with their friends. They are unaware of their feelings for each other. Suddenly, Person A's foot accidentally brushes against Person B's, and with a flustered apology, they shrug the incident off. But then, Person B, realizing they liked the feeling, brushes their foot against Person A's on purpose, and soon they find themselves playing an intimate game of footsies._

Thank you for the reviews: SilverStella, Silly Twin Stars, and Lucy Ashley from Fairy Tail. :) They are encouraging - as are the favorites, and alerts, etc. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Ugh," he groans. "Why are we walking again? So uncool. Very uncool. At least a hundred degrees."

She ignores his protests; she reminds herself that if she gives in she's enabling this whiny behavior and she hopes to never experience it again after today.

"Maka."

She bites her lip.

"Makaaa."

Her fists clench, the skin ghost-white as she pile-drives her nails into her own palms until they bleed. She applauds her own tolerance level considering the layers of dry, desert-strength heat.

It all tumbles down like a house of cards in a strong wind when he puts a hand on her shoulder and whispers her name in her ear.

"Will you shut up, Soul!" she screams. "You should have dressed for the weather! Stop making it my problem!"

She wishes for a Harry Potter-sized novel to bend his skull in but her plaid short-shorts, tank top, and flip flops provide no pockets for anything other than a miniature dictionary to hide in.

Maka grinds her teeth together as he refuses to budge, his breath lapping like humid waves on the shell of her ear. It gets even hotter the closer he gets, and she can't grasp why. She thinks it's just body heat added on to Nevada heat. Proximity always makes her jittery, especially if the person encroaching on her personal territory is a known wielder of excess testosterone.

Or is Soul Eater Evans, her roommate and weapon. Him especially. Must be her time of month. His effect on her lately grows too strong for her liking, especially since he seems to notice and get a great big kick out of it.

As she runs through all her possible excuses and alibis as to why her cheeks are warm enough to fry eggs on with him so near to her, she almost forgets him.

"I'm wearing this because I don't own any shorts."

"I'll remember that at Christmas," she mumbles.

"I didn't know you owned any shorts."

"I wear skirts. What's the difference?"

"The tank top."

Her jade eyes whip around to face him.

"Why are you wearing it?" he asks, his sanguine leer a mirror-image of hers. "Someone you want to impress?"

"So you're admitting you're impressed?" She smirks, triumphant.

"If you didn't have the chest of a young boy, I might be."

Maka unexpectedly kicks him in the face and walks faster to the mall, leaving him to invade the personal space of the sidewalk instead of hers.

"Hey, Maka-" he says as he finally catches up, "I'm sorr-"

"Drop it," she hisses, "or I'll drop you again."

He prefers the books, he realizes. At least he might eventually learn something that way.

Maka relishes the feel of cool, icy, fake air on her sweat-dappled skin as the doors glided apart as she steps on the welcome mat. It feels like she is in an igloo now, and it's the only time she's ever considered that a pleasant sentiment.

"Soul! Maka! Over here!" Liz's impressive voice seems to hover above the clamor of the shopping plaza from the food court. She stands with Patty, Black Star and Tsubaki by a large booth where Kidd picks grains of salt out of a shaker, tries to match the grains of pepper to the amount of salt.

The dishwater blonde meister strolls casually toward them but keeps the same distance a gazelle would from a lion away from her scythe for the time being. She feels refreshed and loathes the thought of him interrupting her peace again.

She slides into the booth beside Tsubaki and opposite of Soul, oblivious to his speculative looks at her distance-molding actions. She picks up on his incensed wavelength but involves herself in Kidd's intense concentration along with Black Star, and tries not to reveal her irritation as Liz starts a conversation with Soul about some new-released jazz record they're both anticipating.

She crosses and uncrosses her legs to distract herself and accidentally runs a bare leg up one of Soul's outstretched ones, going so far as to slip her toes into one of his pant legs as she falls a little into the cushioned booth.

Maka's face simmers and she it's almost like she's still outside as the blush runs up her entire body. No one else seems to notice except her weapon and herself, but the embarrassment lingers like a traumatic memory.

"S-sorry," she mouths, and turns away.

He grins, a predator. As Liz envelops herself in a new conversation with her giggly sister he reaches over and coasts his leg along Maka's to get her attention, and to get her flustered again. He's never seen her turn as red as his eyes before and he finds, for some odd reason, he enjoys it.

She fidgets in her seat, and returns his ogling glance with a blade-sharp glare that could slice a rod of steel.

He repeats the action, and the rouge on her skin returns full-force as she becomes cognizant of the fact that he's doing this on purpose _oh my_ -

Again.

"Soul!" she growls under her breath, so only they can hear. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Accident."

Again.

"Not an accident!"

He grins as it continues to occur and her glare deepens because she's enjoying this way too much.

Maka tosses him back a shit-eating grin and decides to join him on this game, toeing off a flipflop and running a bare foot under his pant leg and as far up as her leg can reach on his own.

She nearly laughs when she sees him tense.

She wiggles her big toe and draws circles on his knee.

He gulps.

She smirks. Now she's the predator in this dangerous game.

Maka moves her foot up and down until he can't stand it anymore and gets up so fast the table shifts forward just enough to knock all the salt out of Kidd's shaker.

"My symmetry! My art! My life!" he screams in agony. The whole food court is stunned into silence as his deafening cries fill the glacial air. Some passers-by wonder who thrust a knife into his heart, but try to avoid asking.

"Who dares to smear darkness on my light? Who?"

"It's 'cause Maka and Soul were playin' footsies under the table, Kiddy," Patty says with a simper more devilish than the one Maka wore only a few minutes before.

All the friends turn with wide eyes in their direction.

"We're gonna go," Soul says, grabs her wrist, and runs them both out the door.

It's obvious they need some time to cool off again somewhere else.


	24. Absence

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **I honestly didn't expect to update this so soon but I saw a prompt I couldn't resist and just got to writing. :) I'm not really sure where this is in terms of time in both the manga and anime. I'm just going to say future, but not too far off. Not a spoiler of any kind because this kind of just sits in the middle of the timeline... well, in my head, anyway.

Thanks for the reviews! **SilverStella, Scotty1994, EvilInsideandOut, curiousivy8, Lucy Ashley from Fairy Tail and the Guest. **I appreciated it, as well as the follows and favorites! Every little thing counts a lot to me.

So! Happy Holidays to those celebrating and Happy New Year's! :)

* * *

"Are you sure, Maka-chan? We don't mind if you spend tonight at our house, honest."

"That's okay, Tsubaki, really. Thank you, though. It means a lot to me." She knows, as it is, they barely have room for the both of them in their one-room apartment. And despite how empty it will be, she wants nothing more than to go home and crawl under her cool silken sheets and sleep until it's all over.

"Really, Maka-"

Black Star slaps a calloused hand on his partner's smooth shoulder and throws her a thumbs up. "Tsubaki, relax. If anything happens to her while she's on her own I'll know and we'll come to her rescue - after all, I am omnipresent!" He laughs and starts to walk away with his hands behind his head.

"Where did he learn that word?" Maka quirks an eyebrow.

Her friend smiles, warm and sweet like toffee. "I've been teaching him some new vocabulary and it's actually been keeping him busy lately because it takes him a few hours to spell it. Impressed?"

"Yeah. I might believe he's a little smarter than a stone now."

Tsubaki giggles despite how harsh it sounds, because she knows more than any of Black Star's friends, her intentions are the farthest from harmful. "Anyway, I'm sure Soul-kun will be fine, Maka-chan. Call me if you need anything, okay? Please?" Her azure eyes beg her politely - as only the chain-weapon can manage.

She grins. "You know I will, Tsubaki-chan."

She loosens a deep sigh of relief from her gut, and it's evident that she's been holding it in for an awfully long time. "Okay. Goodbye, Maka."

Maka waves her off and then starts her long walk home, no motorcycle as her noble steed to take her there, no knight in shining crimson-edged scythe to steer her.

She tries to lose herself in the sunset, in the thick, hazy purple clouds that make her think of smog and poison.

* * *

She opens her door cautiously - only a crack at first - unsure if Blair sleeps in one of her usual obstructive places, like the kitchen table or her bed.

But as expected, not a soul stirs beside her own at the realization. Blair is away on "vacation" with one of her many affluent escorts and Soul is on his first mission as a Deathscythe with a few of the other new weapons. She's not sure when he's coming back, if ever.

Maka tries to punt the thoughts from her jumbled, wired mind but they do not stay far away for long, especially in an empty apartment two floors high. She never realizes how massive it really is when Soul is here, because he becomes the center of her universe during those hours and the world they form when they're together is small, but safe. She misses the microcosm more than words can ever express, and clenches her fists as if to threaten the tears about to fall.

_He'll be back,_ she reminds herself. _He'll definitely be back soon._

She busies herself like an abandoned housewife, cooking a simple meal of pasta for a table of one (and of course, a hearty portion for Soul and a smaller one with mackerel sprinkles on top for Blair) and scrubbing the windows till they're so clean they appear invisible to the naked eye. She sweeps the dust from the floors and hard-to-reach nooks and crannies. She blasts music from a record Soul let her borrow recently but it's still somehow not loud enough to block out her own thoughts.

How is he doing on his first mission without her? Is he safe? Is he warm? Is he hurt? Is someone looking out for him like she used to do?

Does he miss her? Does he think about her?

Will he come back?

Does he even _want_ to come back?

Maka's thoughts thrash about in her head like caged birds but start when she slams the front of the vacuum into her weapon's antiquated door. She does not even breathe as she pushes open his door and steps softly inside, her polka-dotted socks absorbed by the plush of his carpet.

She pulls out her ear-buds and notices that he left his favorite leather jacket here, and groans. So he is cold, as she figures. She rests her music player on his desk and wanders over to his ebony jacket and picks it up, examining it like Dr. Stein would an exotic bird.

She catches a whiff of Soul from it by accident - it's like sandalwood and fresh soil but still somehow a really clean smell. She smiles sadly and tries it on, the sleeves and shoulders much too long for her height and stature. He really is growing so fast she's sure he'll touch the sky soon, leave her on the ground. She sighs and keeps it on as she finishes the housecleaning.

At midnight she shoves the vacuum back into its lair of a linen closet and lies down on the couch. So he probably won't be home tonight.

She curls up in a ball and breathes in the scent of Soul again, drifts to sleep surrounded by it, hopes it'll help her dream contentedly.

But instead she dreams of rose-red eyes fading. Of black blood dancing like spilled ink on paper as white as his hair.

* * *

"Maka?"

He comes home much later than he intended - or wanted. He practically races to the top of the stairs to reach home, he missed it so much.

He misses her, actually, he knows. He misses her so much.

The door squeaks as he opens it but he doesn't worry about waking her. Despite how strong her soul perception is and how acute her senses are she sleeps like the dead.

"Maka?" he yells again.

He hears a light snore in response and tries not to laugh as he finds her in the couch covered in... his jacket?

Soul crouches down to her level and grins, then pokes her in the shoulder.

As expected, she tries to swat him away in her half-sleep.

"Maka," he whispers against her ear, his breath an unwanted breeze that carries her out of her motley dreams.

"What?" she mumbles, voice hoarse from sleep. She rubs her jade eyes in a weak attempt to become more alive. "Soul? What time is it?"

"Four A.M."

"I'm sorry," she sighs. "I tried to wait up for you but I guess I couldn't do it."

He presses his forehead to hers. "That's okay. I see my jacket kept you company, anyhow." He stifles a chuckle.

"Huh?" She looks down and thanks the concealer of night in their living room as her cheeks simmer to a shade of scarlet. "I was -" She struggles for an excuse. "I was doing laundry."

"What? And it just fell on top of you?"

"It was the warmest jacket in the house."

"Death City is in the middle of the desert."

"Deserts get cold at night."

"Bullshit."

Her eyes slide pointedly to an enormous dictionary well within her reach. "Soul-"

He stops her with a kiss, the very last thing she foresees. It's tense at first, because they both are very much inexperienced and feel, as usual, the pressure to succeed but it softens after a few light bumps, possible bruises, and nervous titters.

Soul pries away and holds (and shares) her embarrassed green gaze. "I missed you. I don't want to do another mission without you there."

She wraps her arms around his neck and clutches him like he's her lifeline (which he very possibly could be). "Good."


	25. Fight (Souls and Robbers)

**Disclaimer: **Soul Eater is not mine yeahyeah

**Author's Note: **This is an AU. It was a drabble written for the "fight" theme of SoMa tumblr week (which I think was around a month ago). I don't really update this story anymore and maybe not that many people are following it anymore but... enjoy. :)

**Summary: **She has finally cornered the infamous Jewel Eater, and he's more than she ever could have expected.

* * *

She chases him fleet-footed down the marble coordinator. Her lungs crack like winter-dried skin as she struggles to catch up with the perpetrator.

"Halt!" she screeches as he turns into a dead-end, unlit hallway. Maka breathes gently out and aims her gun as he backs against the wall, clutches tightly to his priceless loot. "This is where it ends. You've fallen for the trap."

His eyes peek through his black-mesh mask for an escape, but there's not even a vent in sight. He wouldn't be surprised if she constructed this herself for the sole purpose of cornering him.

He bites his bottom lip and lunges for her, then at the last minute slides between her legs. But as he takes the corner he trips and loses the urn from his gloved hands. It bounces once, twice, and it shatters and he has a momentary flashback of his first car accident at the splintering sound.

Maka stands over him, and he rolls over to look up at her. Her police badge pinned to her uniform sparkles like reflecting scratches on the windows. It's an old badge, passed down from her chief-of-police father.

"Eater." She addresses him by his tabloid title, and it makes his skin crawl. Her gun remains on his concealed face. "You are mine."

Before he can fight back, she reaches down and rips the mask from his head.

Her expression as she registers him in the pane-divided moonlight resembles the broken urn. He cringes when he notices her blink back a tear.

"Soul?" The gun slides from her trembling hands, and the clatter of it resonates with him more than the artifact, because this is Maka breaking apart, his real treasure. "You are…"

His ruby eyes roam away. The guilt holds him down beneath her. He wants to dissipate as a dust mote into the streams of lunar silk drifting onto the floor. He wants to sink into the ground. He wants her bullet in his heart. It's only fair. "Yeah… the Jewel Eater."

Maka collapses to her knees between his legs. She puts her head in her hands. "I've been chasing my own best friend, who I live with, this entire time? And I never knew? Never figured it out? How dumb am I?" Her jade-tinted eyes seek his in a disoriented way, that remind him of how she fumbles for her keys in the dark of her green-walled room. "And how dumb are you?"

She grabs the collar of his ebony shirt and shakes him, but it's weak. He keeps drifting from her grip; her tears make her fingers as slick as minnow. "You…"

She gets up, grabs her gun and starts to stomp away, but Soul grasps her free hand and turns her around. "Listen to me before you storm off like a thick-ankled buffoon!"

She gives him tense silence as a response.

He sighs. "I did this to protect you."

"By doing all this for years behind my back?"

"You were in danger!" Soul shouts, his eyes narrow. "You were so involved with the serial killer case that you didn't even realize you were meant to be his next victim!"

She gasps. "What…"

"I started this crime spree and you decided to pursue this on your own like I knew you would – you love a challenge… and I gave you one." His fingers coil further around hers.

"You always have."

He raises his eyebrows.

"And now," she continues, "you've given me a new one. Trying to not hate you. How did you keep me on my feet so long?"

He presses her gently against the nearest wall, buries his head in the dip of her collarbone and smirks against the slow-forming goosebumps. "That's easy," he murmurs as he runs a hand along her side and rests it on her hip. "I'm very familiar with your movements."

She throws an unexpected punch straight into his face.

He stumbles back and looks at her in shock. Crimson butters her puffed-out cheeks, her glare garners intensity. "Maka, what the…"

"I'm not forgiving you that easily! You're still a wanted criminal; you owe the museum money for that vase and a bunch of other stolen goods! Including last night's dinner you… you lout!"

He is already perched in the nearest window while she continues to rant.

Maka puts her gun up, but he smiles and waves at her.

"See you at home, Maka!" he yells before jumping from the ledge.

She runs to the window, fires a warning bullet at his feet and he jumps and yelps. "You're doing chores for the rest of our lives!"

He laughs. "I accept your marriage proposal! And don't worry, I have the perfect diamond ring for you at home!" He dashes through the foliage to escape.

She kicks a piece of the pottery. "Men!"


End file.
